


Things Owed - Solitudes

by Akamaimom



Series: Things Owed [6]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-04-19 17:38:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4755206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akamaimom/pseuds/Akamaimom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of the "Things Owed" series. A group of one-shot episode tags. Jack and Sam have sacrificed a lot for each other over the years. Neither of them like the idea of being in debt to the other. Sam/Jack Ship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things Owed - Solitudes

**Things Owed - Solitudes**

 

 

He'd had the dream again.

 

Ice, and cold, and darkness. 

 

To be honest, it was more sensation than visions of anything in particular. The kind of dream where you hazed through it knowing you were in the midst of a mind-wave, yet you still believed wholeheartedly that it was all happening.  Reality extruded through a wide-weave sieve, and moments of pure clarity compressed within the fog of the subconscious.

                                                    

He could feel her in his arms again. Hear her breath whoosh warmly against his neck, her body solid and strong against his own.

 

To hell with the walls he'd been constructing.  They'd been blown to smithereens at the moment she'd giggled about his sidearm.

 

Which, notably, had NOT been his sidearm. 

 

He'd been embarrassed about that, yet at the same time too pragmatic to dwell. She could think what she wanted to about it.  Knowing her, she'd ascribed his awkward moment to his injury, or to their predicament. Heaven knows she'd been too obsessed with fixing the DHD and getting them home to have had any notions of anything less than appropriate.  O'Neill, on the other hand, had been seeking something to fixate on other than the blinding pain in his leg and what seemed like shards of heated glass making their way through his chest. The fact that the Captain was the only interesting thing in that ice cavern hadn't truly been Jack's fault. 

 

So, he'd allowed himself the luxury of simply watching her, something he'd been assiduously denying himself for weeks, now.  From his vantage point on the floor, he had gotten only glimpses, and from there, his traitorous, wholly immature mind had filled in the rest. At one point, when the pills she'd given him had long-since worn off, he'd closed his eyes and reviewed previous missions in his head, hoping to purge his thoughts . He'd found that those memories were filled with her, too, though - excited jabbering, over-eager grins, and that damned blue dress that still taunted him at the worst possible moments. Mentally shaking himself, he resorted to conjugating verbs. That particular mental exercise had gotten him through until she'd decided that she needed to rest. Sharing body heat had been her idea - but he hadn't quibbled. For survival's sake, he'd told himself.

 

She'd lowered herself to lie next to him, slowly fitting her body against his with a care that he'd found to be a singularly exquisite torment. And as she'd curved herself around him, her arm draped across his abdomen, his body had betrayed him gloriously.  There had been giggling, which he'd shushed away, feigning affront. She'd fought sleep, and he'd watched her again out of the corner of his eye as she'd struggled to stop obsessing over the 'Gate, over their predicament, and over her seeming inability to fix things.  After what seemed like hours, she'd finally let it go, her head becoming a leaden weight on his shoulder, the long, warm caress of her breath soothing against his jaw and throat. When his arm fell asleep minutes after she'd finally relaxed into him, he'd discovered that he wouldn't have woken her for fifty more cans of Sterno.

 

That truth, more than anything else, told him that he was royally screwed. And that his wall-building efforts had crashed and burned even more epically than had Ra's ship on Abydos.

 

Jack eased his eyes open, waiting for them to focus before blinking a few times to clear the fuzz.  The ceiling above him was still boring, except for the single crack that wended its way from the mounting of the light fixture towards the metal tubing that held his sliding privacy curtain. Jack remembered the journey home in brief, miniscule moments of clarity - usually precipitated by nauseating bouts of pain. He'd tried - and failed - to remember more.  Dr. Fraiser had assured him that it was for the best.

 

"Is he awake yet?"

 

Sighing inwardly, he scowled at the ceiling. 

 

"I'm not sure, Doctor."  This from the brunette.  Two nurses staffed the infirmary at night. A streaky blond who had hands like a defensive end, and a dark haired girl who smiled too much.  "I checked his vitals ten minutes ago, and everything was normal. I was just going in to switch out his IV."

 

"How's the frost bite?"

 

"Better than yesterday, ma'am."

 

"Okay. We'll take X-rays again in a few hours and then bring in the ortho guy from the Academy hospital. I'm hoping he doesn't need surgery, but the Colonel has broken so many bones in his past that I'm not sure about stability."

 

"Well, that, and he's older."  Nurse Smiley shifted.  Jack could see her feet underneath the bottom hem of the curtain.  She was wearing white clog-like shoes that seemed to be made out of rubber. "It's harder to bounce back after a certain age."

 

Dr. Fraiser made a little noise that could have been a snort. "I wouldn't say that too loudly, Benton. He's a little touchy about that particular subject."

 

"Hey - I like a little experience on a man." Smiley's voice lowered. "And on that one, it looks good."

 

"Yes, well." Fraiser's sensible heels scuffed a little as she moved, and there was a sound of something - file folders? clip boards? - changing hands. "I wouldn't say that too loudly, either. He's a Colonel, Lieutenant."

 

A pause, then Smiley cleared her throat.  A slight noise, but meaningful. "Yes, ma'am."

 

"Give me that bag, Benton." Resignation tinged the doctor's words. "I'll deal with the IV. You go call Doctor Shelton's assistant and see about that consult."

 

"Yes, ma'am."

 

Another little shuffle, a pen clicking closed, and the nurse headed in one direction while the diminutive doctor slid the curtain aside just enough to move into O'Neill's partitioned space.  Pausing as the curtain jerked itself on the rings that held it to the bar, Fraiser adjusted the load in her hands. She'd stacked the IV bag on top of the ubiquitous clipboard that she always seemed to wield, holding the tenuous pile in place with her other hand, which still held her pen.  Her dark eyes met his almost immediately.

 

"You're awake."

 

"I guess." His eyes drifted shut against the exuberant white of her lab coat. "If this counts as awake."

 

Fraiser stepped closer, the soles of her shoes shushing on the concrete flooring. "Conscious, then."

 

"I'll take that."  Gingerly, Jack exhaled.  It hurt to breathe, so he was taking it easy.  "It's better than the alternative."

 

"Coma?"

 

"Dead."

 

"Ah." There was a smile in her tone. "No. That wouldn't be fun at all."

 

"Nope." He opened one eye again, just a tidge.  "It'd kinda suck."

 

Janet took a step towards him, deftly divesting herself of her cargo onto a spot at the end of his bed.  "I've got Doctor Shelton being called to give a consult about your leg. Now that the swelling has abated some, I don't see the need for surgery, but I'd like an ortho guy to look at it anyway.  With the sheer number of fractures, breaks, and dislocations you've endured, I'd like to give you the best chance at a full and unencumbered recovery."

 

He'd heard this before. Jack nodded, just so she knew he was listening.

 

She leaned over the foot of his bed, examining his leg with gentle fingers. "The leg is still immobilized, but it's not casted, so try to be a good boy and don't screw it up any more than it already is."

 

"Doc, you wound me. I'm always a good boy."

 

She laughed, a sound that trailed off when she looked up at him. "Oh--you were serious."

 

Somehow, that smarted. "I don't get injured on purpose, you know."

 

"Of course you don't." Her tone was tinged with a patronizing sort of sarcasm. "Anyway, the frostbite is clearing up much faster than I'd feared, so there's that.  The broken ribs, according to the latest X-rays, are healing up well, too.  Luckily, there was no pneumothorax."

 

Jack opened both eyes and scowled at her.

 

She smiled at him as if he were simple. "You didn't puncture a lung."

 

"I know what a pneumothorax is."  His frown deepened.  "I just didn't know that had been a concern."

 

"It was at first, Sir."  Fraiser inserted her fingers into the front pockets of her lab coat. "When your oxygen levels were in the high 80s and unstable. We sort of thought a rib had gotten stuck in there."

 

"And now?"

 

"You heard Lieutenant Benton."

 

"About the stable vitals and all? Yeah. I heard her."

 

"Good."

 

"I'm not old."

 

"She didn't say you were."

 

"Close enough." He thought about snorting in derision, but that probably would have made him decidedly uncomfortable, so he settled for narrowing his eyes. With great meaning.

 

"Right. Well, then. I understand you've taken umbrage." Fraiser smiled. "So, I won't scold you for eavesdropping."

 

The Colonel lifted a hand and scrubbed at the fuzz on his face. Several days' worth, at least. He hadn't shaved since the day they'd stepped through the 'Gate and ended up in the ice cavern. For some reason, the growth made him feel even older than he had when Smiley Barton had been maligning him. He sighed, then flinched, his breath hissing outward from between his teeth.

 

Sighing hurt, too.

 

A little white blur caught his attention and he looked up to see the doctor adjusting the drip of his IV, her fingers working methodically - seemingly without forethought.  Once things were glugging downward as she wanted, she removed the expended bag from where she'd tucked it beneath an arm and then tossed it into the trash can near the little rolling table at his side. With a final flick of the tubing, she turned back towards the Colonel.

 

"Anything I can get you?"

 

"A new leg bone?"

 

Her dark head tilted slightly, and she indicated her nametag with the end of her pen. "Fraiser. Not Frankenstein."

 

"Coulda fooled me."  Jack felt himself smile.

 

The petite doctor answered him with one of her own. Despite her aspirations towards running the world based on the force of her dimpled charm, sheer stubbornness, and impeccable doctoring credentials, she was, beneath it all, a nurturing sort, and just as proficient at the Mother Hen routine as Carter. His smile faded.

 

Carter. He hadn't seen her since they'd landed in the States a few days before. At least, he thought it had been a few days since the transport had brought them home. He couldn't be certain. He did know that he missed her - that she’d been first on his mind once he'd started digging his way out of unconsciousness.  Luckily, the pain meds they'd been pushing on him had made it nearly impossible to dwell on that. Sometimes, lucidity sucked. Oblivion was kinder in many, many ways.

 

"Magazines?" The doctor's voice intervened. "A book? I think we have some decks of cards somewhere around here. You could play solitaire."

 

"Nah." Jack looked up at the ceiling and the crack that glared down at him.  "I'm good."

 

"Hungry?"

 

"Do you have real food?"

 

"We have Jell-O."

 

He considered.  "Not yet."

 

"Okay." She reached for the clipboard that still sat on near his feet. "Would you be more comfortable sitting up further?"

 

"I tried that yesterday."  He made a random motion towards the side of his bed with his right hand. "Apparently this is a busted bunk."

 

"Really?" Reaching out, she pressed the buttons on the bed rail with her thumb, then pursed her lips when nothing happened. Laying the clipboard on Jack's abdomen, she bent and fiddled around with the mechanical stuff below for several moments before standing back up. Taking the clipboard back in hand, she nodded once. Decisively. "I'll send in Sergeant Siler. He'll have it sorted out in no time."

 

When O'Neill tried to meet her face, it wavered a little. Whatever she'd put in the drip must have kicked in. All he could muster was a half-nod and a little, "Mmm."

 

She said something on which he couldn't quite focus. Her coat had morphed into a cloud of moving, hazy light. He couldn't keep his eyes open, and it felt like his head was being swallowed by his pillow.  He didn't notice when she left.

 

-    - - - - - - 0000000 - - - - - - -

 

Clunk.

 

Skitter, skitter, clang, bonk.

 

Ker-thunk.

 

Choice words - another clunk, a little 'jzh-jzh-jzh' sound, and then the whole bed jerked.

 

Suddenly, and completely, awake, Jack's gaze jolted towards a hand reaching up and over the bed rail, dirty fingers searching for, and eventually finding, the control panel just to his left.

 

With a soft, mechanical 'bzzzzzz', the head of the bed lifted slightly, while the foot tilted downward.

 

For a split second, O'Neill thought he was going to slide right off the end of the blighted contraption and break everything all over again. Ridiculously, his first thought was that Fraiser would be supremely peeved if that happened. "Siler!"

 

Motion stopped just as suddenly as it had started, and a familiar sandy head popped up from whence had arisen the hand. 

 

"Colonel?"

 

"Damn it, Siler!"  O'Neill batted the extraneous hand away from the buttons and found the correct one to lift the foot of the bed back into position.

 

"Sorry, Sir!"  The Sergeant lumbered to his feet, his blue BDUs covered in varying degrees of grease and dust. "But I think it's fixed now."

 

"Yeah, well." Jack scooted backwards as best he could, back up towards his pillow.  "My leg isn't, still. So the less damage we do to it right now, the better."

 

"Yes, Sir." Siler stepped back, crouching down a bit to make sure that the bed was level, then taking a knee.  "I'm sorry about that.  I didn't know I'd actually fixed it. Sometimes stuff's tricky like that - you don't know it's done until it's done, you know? I'm probably not making much sense, though. It's been a hectic few days around here, too, Sir."

 

"What with the 'Gate malfunction and all."

 

"And all the worry on account of you and Captain Carter." Siler's muffled voice came from a point right below O'Neill's butt.  A few more of those phantom 'jzh-jzh-jzh' noises whirred their way upwards, and then the sound of plastic scraping on the concrete floor. "Just have to replace the panel on the hydraulics components, Sir."

 

'Jzh-jzh-jzh-jzh.' The Colonel focused on the strange noise and finally placed it - a battery-powered screwdriver. There was a pause, then the bed shook nearly imperceptibly as Siler scooted out from under it and pulled himself upright.

 

"Good as new." 

 

"Are you sure?"

 

"Certainly, Sir."

 

"I won't be falling out of it again?"

 

"Not unless you want to, Sir."

 

O'Neill's eyes narrowed, only slightly on purpose.  Still groggy from that last dose of IV cocktail, he fought against the urge to allow his lids to drift completely closed. "I'd rather not, thanks."

 

"Then, there you go, Sir." The sergeant glanced downward, towards the large cast that dominated the bottom half of the bed.  "Sorry about the leg, Sir.  I've broken my leg before.  I know it's no fun."

 

"Oh, it's not that bad once you get used to it." O'Neill raised a hand and tucked it behind his head.  "It's the boredom that gets you."

 

"And the itching."  Siler motioned towards O'Neill's immobilized leg with his screwdriver. "I used to steal my mother's knitting needles and use them to scratch down inside the cast. The itching was - well - it really sucked."

 

Despite himself, the Colonel grinned.  "Good to know.  Maybe I'll have someone pick some up for me."

 

"Maybe you could ask Captain Carter."  Siler's brows rose.  "Dr. Fraiser says that if the Captain comes in one more time asking what she can do to make you more comfortable, Fraiser's going to sedate her and tie her to a gurney."

 

"Carter's been here?"

 

"You were probably sleeping." Siler shrugged.  "You've slept a lot."

 

He scowled.  "It's the drugs."

 

"Of course, Sir."

 

"Anyway, she doesn't need to hang around here.  She's got better things to do."

 

The Sergeant face brightened.  "Well, she's checking over my 'Gate repairs right now. The whole incident really messed up a bunch of power relays and internal couplings. We've been rebalancing everything ever since."

 

"Good. Working’s good."  Jack nodded, refocusing above him, on the crack making its way across the ceiling. So, she was well enough to get back to work.  He'd wondered about that. In those few bright moments he'd had, he'd hoped that she'd escaped the glacier as intact as possible. He'd known that she'd gotten banged up a little, he'd noticed the bruises, and a pair of scratches on her cheek. The thought of that fine skin being torn apart chilled him as much as lying on the ice had. He swallowed.  "So she's okay, then."

 

"As far as I can tell."  Siler nodded.  "At least she's back to fixing stuff."

 

"And Daniel and Teal'c?"

 

"Daniel got bumped around when they came flying out of the 'Gate that first day, but he’s been bopping around ever since.  Teal'c's just - Teal'c. I don't think it's possible to hurt that guy."

 

"He's certainly resilient."

 

"He's indestructible. Carried a half-dozen guys back over through the 'Gate when they got injured looking for you."

 

O'Neill grimaced.  He'd been afraid of that. He threw a side-long look at Siler before breathing out a ragged sigh.  "Are they - "

 

"Fine, sir.  All of them will be fine."

 

"Good." Relief tickled at his gut. "That's something, at least."

 

Shifting from one foot to another, Siler shoved his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. "Anyway, Sir.  Do you need anything else?"

 

Absolution. O'Neill rolled his eyes, his lids lowering.  What exactly did he need? Forgiveness. A chance to talk. To explain. To express something - although he knew without a doubt that he wouldn't have the right words. Because, how did one say the things that needed to be said after what they'd shared?

 

She'd saved him - completely. In every way possible.  He owed Carter everything. His life, his future, his gratitude, his loyalty.  She had kept him alive, and then made him grateful not to be dead. How could you repay that gift? What could a Colonel with his record - his past - his demons - offer her?

 

His soul.  Because now he was sure that he still had one.

 

And he'd treated her badly. Typical, he figured. Daniel was always accusing him of being an ass. He supposed that his behavior in the glacier proved the younger man right.  Again. Damn, but that stung. As much as he valued Daniel's knowledge pertaining to ancient cultures and the 'Gate system, Jack resented his aptitude for pointing out Jack's own personal frailties.

 

Regardless, admitting his failings to Daniel was one thing. Giving Carter her due was another thing entirely. She deserved - more. Whenever he closed his eyes, he could feel her heat, her body solid next to his, her hands a careful comfort. She'd been a warm lifeline in a black sea of icy despair. He'd tried not to wish for death. Tried to soldier on, but in reality, maybe he was too old for the whole 'acting tough' schtick. He'd seen death on too many occasions not to be violently aware that sometimes being relieved of the burden of life was a blessing and not a curse. Especially when there was nothing truly golden to live for.

 

So, he'd melted the ice and tried to be useful. He'd settled into the pain and then made an attempt to maintain some semblance of lightness. He'd listened to her rant and travail over the DHD and the 'Gate, providing a needed sounding board, or support, or something - anything - for her. He'd accepted her need to try to help him, had allowed her to treat him, because if he hadn't, she would have blamed herself had he died. He'd told her things that he wouldn't have said, were he certain he were going to live.  Allowed the walls to tumble. Been truthful. Been real.

 

And the very last thing he wanted was to have to explain certain things - like dredging up the ex-wife. While the images of Sara had been vital in keeping him focused on getting himself out of Iraq years before, during the days in the cavern, his mind had been filled with other images as he'd been attempting to escape the pain, cold, and despair. He could just hope that, in the final hours when he'd succumbed, he hadn't said anything that would cause irreparable damage to the relationship he and Carter had carved out.

 

More than anything, he didn't want to hurt her. Didn't want to damage her career, or make things awkward between them. The last thing in the world he wanted was for his inability to control himself to affect her adversely in any way. She took everything too personally as it was - he couldn't even fathom what she was putting herself through now that she had time to contemplate things. One fact he could be certain of was that she was blaming herself for what had happened, and for the time it had taken to get them home. He knew her well enough to accept that as fact.

 

Ultimately, her greatest triumph through the ordeal had been making sure that he'd stayed alive until Daniel had figured things out at the SGC. Jack had been near-delirious at the end, teetering on the jagged edge of lucidity when the teams had arrived. If he were to be frank, he'd been less relieved about the rescue as he had been content at the thought of dying right where he was.

 

Enveloped by her.

 

But O'Neill knew without question that she seethed with self-given guilt. That she was attributing his ills, his pain, his tenuous condition, to her inability to think their way out of the crisis. She would never be able to step back and see just how damned remarkable she was.

 

"Sir?"  Siler's boot shuffled on the concrete floor, and Jack glanced up, slightly startled to see the Sergeant still there.  "Anything else you need?"

 

"Nah." O'Neill shook his head. "But thanks."

 

"Books? Magazines? A puzzle?"

 

"I don't think so."

 

"I just know that when I was injured, I liked having something entertaining to do."  The sergeant pushed his glasses up again, depositing a fresh greasy smudge on the bridge of his nose. "It really helped pass the time and keep my spirits up."

 

"I'll think about that."  Jack's brows lowered.  "Thanks."

 

"No problem, Sir."  Lifting his screwdriver in a quasi-salute, Siler turned and pushed his way through the curtained opening and headed out.

 

For the barest of beats, Jack thought about letting the technician go.

 

But then, he remembered that he owed her.

 

 

\- - - - - - OOOOOOOO - - - - - -

 

 

"Sir?"

 

"Carter."

 

"You're awake."

 

"Apparently."

 

She pushed the curtain aside with the back of her hand and moved forward, hesitant.  Her neat top teeth worried a little at her bottom lip as she studied a point just beyond his right shoulder. "How are you feeling?"

 

"You tell me."  Jack tempered his tone. "You're the one looking at the monitor."

 

A flush crept up her throat, and she ducked her head against a smile. "Sorry. I was just worried about you."

 

"Well, I've lived. You'll have to deal with me a little longer."

 

Crossing her arms across her midsection, she rocked forward a little on her toes. "I wasn't sure you'd want visitors."

 

"Well, seeing how you saved my life, I could hardly kick you out, right?" Levity. He'd tried for levity. Instead, his words had turned inward, more honest than he'd intended.

 

"I didn't save - "

 

"Yeah." Jack shifted on the bed, crooking his good leg.  "Yeah, you did."

 

Her lips tightened, brows lowering over her vivid eyes. "I still feel like I didn't do enough. I could have figured it out sooner. If I'd only considered dialing a different address - "

 

"Carter." Soft, his voice stopped her words more effectively than a gag would have.  "You saved my life. There is no way to argue with that - it's truth. And for the love of all that's holy, please stop apologizing."

 

"I'm sorry, Sir."

 

He couldn't help it. He rolled his eyes, attempting a sigh. "You're impossible, you know that?"

 

She offered a wry shrug. "So I've been told."

 

"By me, usually."

 

The corner of her mouth quirked upward.  She took another step closer, her shoulders relaxing a little. "I seem to recall a few remarks made here or there."

 

"In between bouts of my yelling at you."

 

"Well, there was that."

 

"I'm sorry."

 

She looked at him directly for the first time, an indiscreet meeting of deep brown and ocean- blue. A burst of energy flowed there, friendship, and understanding, and something deeper.  Respect. Trust. Loyalty.

 

"What were you just saying about apologizing?"

 

He ran his finger along the sharp top edge of the sheet draped across his belly. "I'm the Colonel. I can do what I want."

 

"You wish."  Her snort was decidedly unladylike.  "At least you're not going to have to have surgery, though, right?"

 

"I've got to admit, that was a pleasant bit of news."

 

"Janet says your frostbite is healing up nicely."

 

"Yep."

 

"And your oxygen levels are solid."

 

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Is there anything you don't know?"

 

Another step closer, until her left thigh rested near his feet against the side of the bed.  She held his gaze steadily, without flinching.  "I don't know how we survived."

 

He answered her quietly.  "You."

 

Carter frowned a bit, casting a long, long, look towards the ceiling. She swallowed, then took a deep breath. "I've never been so scared in my life.  I came to, and you were lying there, unconscious, and Daniel and Teal'c were nowhere to be found. Your leg was - just - wrong. And you were barely breathing. I knew we didn't have the necessary supplies to survive in that environment, especially with you so badly injured. I was terrified."

 

"And yet you did exactly what you were supposed to do. You did exactly the right thing."

 

"Except think about dialing a different address."

 

"How could you have possibly known to do that?"

 

"I should have - "

 

"Carter."

 

Checking herself, she let out an awkward, stilted breath. "I've never felt so stupid." She reached down and ran a hand along the tight-woven edge of the flimsy hospital blanket.  "Never in all my life."

 

"Carter." Jack leaned up a little, adjusting himself against the pillow behind his back.  "You've got nothing at all to be ashamed of."

 

Turning her body, she edged a bit closer, studying his leg in its cast. "You almost died, Sir."

 

"So did you."

 

"Because of me."

 

"No." Jack shook his head. Her fingers stilled on the blanket, splayed out as if she were interrupted in the middle of playing a sonata. He watched as she gathered herself, as she tried to regain her composure. Watched as a dizzying array of emotions flew across her fine features.   Could do nothing but observe as she fought against self-recrimination, and then lost.

 

Her eyes drifted shut, her chin ducking towards her chest. "Sir - I - "

 

"Carter - don't." It still hurt to move much, but he bit back the groan and did it anyway, pushing himself further upright against the raised back of the bed. "Listen. We put ourselves out there.  We know what the risks are.  It's not possible to know what we're going to face each time we step through that wormhole."

 

Nodding, she still refused to look at him.  Her jaw worked in a steady rhythm as she prepared her words. "Intellectually, I know that. But seeing it. Seeing you lying there. It was - "

 

She faltered, and an uncertain silence fell in the curtained room. Quiet. Beyond the barrier, the infirmary lived on in muffled, irregular beats. Within the fabric walls, it seemed sanctuary-like - still and private. Like a meditation garden. Or a confessional.

 

Jack balled up his fists, fighting the temptation to reach out and touch her. "We do what we do. We are who we are. Sometimes it seems like we're ready for whatever comes our way - that we are completely prepared for the challenges we face. Sometimes we're scared beyond our ability to even fathom it. You want to know what sets us apart from the people who fail?"

 

"Luck?" Her tone held an edge of bitterness.

 

"Nope." He shook his head, even though she was still assiduously studying his sheets.  "Well, maybe a little. But that's not what I was going for."

 

"I honestly don't know, Sir. We truly shouldn't be here. You, especially."

 

O'Neill tugged on her fingers, drawing her attention to his face. "What sets us apart is that we keep working through the fear. We don't give up."

 

Her gaze faltered downward towards his leg and then back up his body. Inhaling deeply, she made a deep study of his face.  "I did. At the end. You asked for your wife, you were in such pain - and I knew I couldn't help you any more. I pretended - "

 

"I know."  Jack nodded, his dark eyes assessing her with an honesty that kind of surprised him. "Sam. You - you - kept me alive. I owe you more than I could ever repay. And even though I know you're not going to believe me, let me tell you right now that you have nothing - nothing - to feel ashamed of. Nothing to beat yourself up over. Nothing to not feel proud of. I meant what I said. I am honored beyond belief to be able to serve with you."

 

Oh, those eyes. Complex, profound, intelligent. A glimmer of something - faith? - flashed through them before she ducked her head again and bit back a smile.

 

Jack gave her a light 'thwack' on her arm with the back of his hand. "Don't make me say that again. I'm getting tired of all this mushy stuff."

 

She nodded. "You have my word, Sir."

 

"They're going to take away my tough-guy credentials."

 

"We can't have that, can we?"

 

"Hell, no."  O'Neill sucked in a pained breath as he reached towards the little table at his bedside. The box was right where Siler had left it. "And because I'm the Colonel, I've decided to use this whole experience as a training exercise."

 

Sam's face fell into a question as he extended the package towards her. "What's this, Sir?"

 

"Just a little something for if this ever happens again."

 

"You got me a present?"

 

He glowered at the box, wondering again why Siler had wrapped it. The shoe-box sized parcel was covered in paper emblazoned with shiny balloons and had a half-crushed ribbon on top. "It's training materials. Now take it. It hurts to keep holding it out like this."

 

"Oh - I'm sorry, sir." She snagged the gift, holding it before her like the Holy Grail.

 

"What did I say about apologizing?"

 

"To not."  For a long, long moment, she merely stared down at the balloon-covered box. With a furtive look towards him, she inserted her finger beneath the tape holding the bow on and ripped it off, pulling the rest of the paper away in a single, neat motion. Those teeth went back to work on her lip again as she studied her gift.

 

"Operation?"

 

"It's a great game. One of the Milton Bradley classics." O'Neill patted the bed next to his good leg. "Have a seat. I'll show you how to play."

 

“How did you get this? You’ve been stuck in the infirmary.”

 

“I’ve got skills, Carter.”

 

She cast him a sideways look which was frankly skeptical. “Mmm.”

 

“Well, at least I’ve got Siler.”

 

“Ah.” The Captain crumpled the paper and tossed it handily into the garbage can next to the little table. “He has his moments.”

 

“Yes, well.” O’Neill jabbed a finger at box.  “Open it up. You’ve got work to do.”

 

"Seriously?" Sam lifted the lid off the box and set it aside before gingerly lowering herself to sit on the edge of the bed. "I'm a little confused."

 

"I figured you might need to bone up on your medical skills."

 

"When?"

 

"Sometime while you were setting my leg." He hazarded a glance at her, and was rewarded with a smile, even if it was accompanied by the barest hint of an eye-roll.  "It hurt like a mother - er - something, and I decided you needed some more basic medical training, you being a doctor and all."

 

"Wrong kind of doctor."

 

"So you've said."  Jack picked up the little set of tweezers that came with the game, flexing them experimentally before handing them to her. "You know how it works, right? You try and get all the little doohickeys out without touching the sides of the little pocket-y things."

 

"Yeah." She nodded, turning her attention towards her patient. "I've played. Mark and I had one of these when we were kids. I always thought it was funny that the guy's name was 'Cavity Sam'."

 

"Even more reason not to kill the poor man."

 

She'd gone all scientist on him, studying the ‘patient’ with a practiced eye. "I would concur."

 

He should have known she'd approach the entire thing too seriously. Jack sat back and watched her - stealing a few more moments as he could. She turned the tweezers this way and that, trying to figure out the precise angles needed to remove all the objects without incident. The tip of her tongue peeked out from between her lips, and her brows drew low over her intent eyes. Her hair seemed longer than it had before, falling in a golden curtain against her cheek before she sat straight up and tucked those strands behind her ear.

 

"Um, Sir?"

 

He had to swallow before answering her. "Yes, Carter?"

 

"I hate to tell you this, but I don't think that this specimen will suffice in helping me to learn better first aid skills."

 

"Oh?"

 

She looked up at him from beneath her bangs.  "Yeah. It's a shame, but this guy isn't anatomically correct."

 

O'Neill glanced down at the cartoon-like man splayed on the gameboard ‘table’, examining him from the top of his drawn-on hair, past his bulbous nose, and on down to his fleshy feet.  "Everything's right. Broken heart, funny bone, Charlie horse - it's all there."

 

"Nope. Sorry. This guy is not right at all." She feigned a look of serious sadness.  "He's lacking a very important bit."

 

"Carter." The Colonel sat back against his pillows, motioning towards her with an open palm. "What are you talking about?"

 

She pointed the tweezers downward, jabbing vaguely towards poor Cavity Sam's midsection.  "See? Here. It's just - not there."

 

"What's not there?"

 

Again, that vivid gaze rose to meet his, her expression knowing, saucy, and entirely too familiar. "He's missing his side arm."

 

 


End file.
